Aftermath
by E.M. Snape
Summary: I know I said I'd finish every story here, but I unfortunately lied. This is officially a victim of In Blood Only and will not be continued.
1. PART ONE: DURSLEYS GONE MAD

PART ONE: DURSLEYS GONE MAD

"Harry…"

The woman's voice cut through his nightmare. Harry snuggled deeper into the pillow, burying himself in the ghost-like mirages of Death Eaters to avoid confronting the cold morning.

"Harry, dear, wake up." The voice was soft and tender.

Strange. Harry's eyes crept open. Above him loomed his aunt's blurred form. A white splotch of teeth—was she smiling at him? In disbelief, Harry snatched his glasses and shoved them back onto his face, expecting to see that blur of white dissolve into his aunt's usual scowling face.

The smile remained, looking decidedly odd on her overlong face. He couldn't remember ever seeing her smile from this angle—she'd have to be smiling at _him_ to give him a dead-on grin like this.

Holy shit, she _was_ smiling at him!

"There you go, sleepyhead! Don't want to spend such a lovely day in bed, do you?" she murmured, eyes graced with a warm twinkle that rivaled Dumbledore's.

Harry stared at her; his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Why was she being so nice?

"Is something wrong, Aunt Petunia?" he asked warily.

A frown creased her brow. "Why don't you tell me? You haven't been eating nearly enough, Harry." Her voice was layered with concern. "Your uncle and I are worried about you."

"Uncle Vernon? Worried?" Harry sputtered, fear tightening like a coil in his chest. Something was very wrong. This wasn't his aunt. Who the hell was this woman?

She didn't seem to notice how he plastered himself against the far wall. "We made you a special meal. I hope you like lasagna—"

Harry's eyes shot desperately towards the floorboard concealing his wand. He had no chance to retrieve it. He was at the mercy of this Polyjuice'd fiend.

"… so why don't you wash yourself up and come down for supper, okay?" A smile with the sickeningly sweet degree of fondness she normally reserved for her 'ickle Diddykins' flashed across her face, and then she left Harry to his room.

It took a good degree of effort to pry himself from the bed, and several minutes to fish through his trunk for his wand. His body shook beneath him with a foreign degree of weakness and not a little fear. In the three weeks since the Department of Mysteries, he'd barely eaten, seldom climbed out of bed, much less stepped out of his room. The visions of Voldemort—constantly assailing him thanks to his disastrous Occlumency lessons—strained him mentally when asleep, but the sheer oppressive horror of an existence without Sirius made him wish for the refuge of those visions when awake. He'd discovered a nice compromise by remaining in bed, drifting in and out of a half-sleep that left him neither fully awake nor fully exhausted, visions of Death Eaters just creeping into his mind without fully immersing him in their horror. They were just enough of a distraction to pull his thoughts from Siri—

_New train of thought_, he admonished himself silently.

He was acutely aware of his own stench. Unwashed, wrapped in sweaty covers several sweltering summer weeks on end, he was hardly in a state for civil supper discourse. Not that the Dursley's had ever required him for such.

He left his wand propped up in easy reach of the shower and balanced a soap-holder on the door to clatter down in warning in case anyone forced an entry. Harry scrubbed his body clean in a rough, uneasy manner, all the time waiting for the foe who looked like Aunt Petunia to bust down the door and 'Avada Kedavra' him.

Several minutes later, he realized that he'd survived his shower, and crept down the stairs to find Uncle Vernon smiling at him with a cherubic grin that might have been endearing when the man was still in grammar school, but appeared horribly out of place on his bloated, middle-aged features. His fat red face and flabby cheeks twitched in an expression of delight upon spotting his nephew.

And he was _cooking_.

Harry gaped at this strange phenomenon. His selfish, indolent uncle, so fond of forcing others (Harry) to work and then bellowing at them (Harry) about their ingratitude as they labored… He was performing an actual household task.

"Ah, Harry!" he cried merrily. "How have you been, my boy?"

'Harry'? The-Boy-Who-Lived tightened his grip on his wand, now tucked unseen in the pocket of his pants. His uncle always called him 'boy'. Or, 'ungrateful runt', or some colorful choice of insult. Never his first name. He knew now for certain both his aunt and uncle were imposters.

He just wasn't sure if he should care.

"I'm just finishing up here," the man who looked like his uncle continued blissfully. "I've told your aunt and cousin you all could start without me. So, dig in, sport!"

As if on cue, Dudley looked up from the table and smiled beatifically at Harry.

"Sit next to me, Harry!" he called out, grinning, patting the chair directly beside his own.

Aunt Petunia watched Harry take the seat with a fond smile, eye shining with affection.

Harry picked at his food cautiously, wary of poison, and tried to calculate the quickest escape route. It was obvious that Death Eaters had infiltrated Privet Drive.

TBC

A/N:

This will shape up into a Harry & Snape story


	2. PART TWO: RETURN TO HOGWARTS

PART TWO: RETURN TO HOGWARTS

The next several days were surreal. Whenever the Dursleys sat down to watch television, they begged Harry to join them, and adopted tragic, disappointed facial expressions when he refused; they peppered him with questions about Hogwarts, and listened in rapt attention as he fumbled for answers. They parceled the chores among themselves, begging off Harry's attempts to re-establish some normality when he offered to do them himself. They invited him to go to the cinema, to go out to dinner. His aunt insisted on buying him new clothes, and gloated aloud about how wonderful her 'Ickle Harrykins' looked. Dudley watched it all without jealousy, and even offered his new 'little brother' advice on everything from girls, to throwing a punch, to driving...

Harry went along with it out of sheer terror.

He sent frantic letters to Dumbledore and the Order, absolutely convinced his relatives had been killed and some imposters with malevolent intent had taken their place. Or perhaps they were under the Imperius Curse. Or maybe they'd been poisoned, and their neural pathways were slowly festering, leaving them under the _delusion_ they cared what happened to Harry, when in reality they were acquiring irreversible brain damage that would eventually manifest itself in homicidal rage...

Nymphadora Tonks, Arthur Weasley, and Remus Lupin arrived after several of these frantic communiqués and laughed off his fears.

"Honestly, Harry, you're upset because they're _not_ mistreating you for once?" Mr. Weasley said, chuckling. "They're probably just being mindful of our warning."

A fleeting smile crossed Harry's lips as he recalled the end of the school year when members of the Order had ordered the Dursleys to treat Harry well or face their wrath.

"It's more than that, Mr. Weasley. They're acting _wrong._ They're behaving as if..." he lowered his voice, wary of his imposter relatives overhearing, "They're acting like they _love _me."

"Maybe the Dursleys have simply learned the meaning of family, Harry," Tonks said with a coy little smile.

Harry seriously doubted it. He watched them leave again with trepidation, and turned, even more incredulous, to find his relatives waving goodbye.

"What pleasant people!" Aunt Petunia exclaimed after they'd left, turning to his uncle. "Vernon, we really must have them over for tea sometime! And I must ask that girl who dyed her hair that lovely shade of purple..."

* * *

Harry spent several more days dubiously playing family with his family. As his suspicions about their identities slowly waned, he began to consider this might all be some horrible trick. It would be just like the Dursleys to play nice to him, to lull him into a sense of security, and then yank it out from under him again. To laugh, spitefully and maliciously, once Harry had begun to trust in their kindness.

Actually, it wouldn't be like them at all.

They would never be able to pull off an act this elaborate. His Uncle Vernon could barely stand to be civil to Harry, much less play a father to him. And all the money his aunt had spent the last several days on Harry's clothing... That couldn't be just for show.

Pondering the mystery of the loving, caring Dursleys occupied Harry's every thought. It was only in passing one day, in the car on the way to a family night on the town, that it occurred to him he hadn't thought about Sirius or the Prophecy or Voldemort for several days. He didn't have time for the guilt to crash properly down over him before his now-loving relatives ushered him out of the car. They picked up on his glum expression and quickly went about lifting the spirits of their beloved Harry.

Several weeks later found him on the Hogwarts express.

He gazed out the window, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that refused to leave him. The Dursleys had implored him to come home for Christmas break. They hugged him goodbye. To Harry's shock, their gestures of affection continued after he boarded the train; they deigned to enter Platform 9 ¾ with him, and they stood there waving at him as their figures shrank into the distance. They never tore off their masks, dropped the act, and revealed some malevolent reason for their kindness.

He now leaned his heated forehead against the cool window, daring to wonder—could it have been real?

He wanted to hex himself for being so goddamn stupid, for actually considering this.

But could it possibly have been real?

He raked his fingers through his hair, hard, clawing with his nails. Dare he entertain the possibility they'd had a change of heart? Was he seriously foolish enough to wonder if they'd cared for him of their own volition rather than due to some spell or curse?

_That _wasn't them! They hated and despised everything Harry represented. They resented him with all the bitterness in their hearts. He didn't understand this last summer, but he would never dare to believe in the possibility...

Yet he had to admit-- he desperately wanted to believe this summer hadn't been an illusion. He wanted to think he had a family out there, somewhere, that actually loved him.

But they were the Dursleys. And he could never deceive himself that way.

There was a hollow burning in his chest as he gazed at the bleak landscape zooming past the window. He hated this uncertainty. He hated that he was buckling under, allowing himself to indulge in the possibility his relatives might possibly care about him. Intellectually, he _knew_ it wasn't possible. It would evaporate the _moment _he began to invest himself in this new familial feeling. They would reveal themselves to be the same cruel, hateful Dursleys the second he dropped his guard and let himself care what they thought of him.

"Harry?"

He heard Ginny's soft voice beside him and glanced up to meet her worried eyes.

"You've been really quiet this whole trip," she said. "Are you okay?"

Across from them Neville glanced up, then back down again, pretending he wasn't listening. Ron and Hermione were conspicuously absent, off meeting with the other Prefects.

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm fine," Harry said absently.

"Is it your relatives?" Ginny's expression was dark, and he remembered suddenly she knew all about his turbulent relationship with the Dursleys from Ron and Mr. Weasley. "Did they do anything—"

Harry laughed a little wildly, avoiding her scrutiny. "No, no, the Dursleys were great. They were... they were perfect. I'm very tired, Ginny."

That seemed to appease her, and Harry continued to stare sightlessly out the window, feeling slightly ill. Whatever else Voldemort had done, nothing had fucked with his head like this. The Dursleys had acted like they _loved_ him... And he knew they'd given him something he _needed_, desperately, especially after last year. Especially after losing--

He felt a pang of guilt as he reluctantly admitted to himself that, despite his unrelenting terror, he'd been something other than utterly miserable this summer. Since Sir-- since the Department of Mysteries, he should have been doing _something_ to make up for his terrible mistakes, to make up for killing—to make up for what he'd let happen. He should have been unhappy, miserable, guilty... And he'd been treated like a prince.

No, he'd been treated like a son.

A son.

All these years of longing for a family that actually loved him and he received it when he _least_ deserved it.

He'd killed Sirius. He shouldn't have this now. He wasn't worthy of it.

He was irritated when he felt Ginny's light touch on his arm, and again, he had to assuage her concern. He was considerably less patient and gentle this time, and by the time Hogwarts students were converging on the Great Hall en masse, she looked even more upset. She stood next to Hermione whispering about him. Ron's voice was pestering him in his ear, and Harry just wanted to disappear. He wanted to escape all the concerned, hollow-eyed gazes of his friends. He wanted to leave all the admiring eyes of those students who had ridiculed him just the previous year amd worshiped him now. He wanted to flee the scrutiny of those professors glancing over at him from the Head Table.

When the path was clear, he pleaded a headache and fled for his dormitory. He'd very nearly escaped the Great Hall when a figure emerged from the corridor beyond. Harry froze, eyes locking with the black gaze of Professor Snape.

All the sound about him seemed to drain into a strange blur in his head. Snape was watching him with a cold, assessing gaze that took in everything revealed nothing. Harry suddenly felt raw and exposed before the legilimens' eyes.

"Leaving so soon, Potter?" Snape said in a chilly voice. "I daresay your admirers will be heartbroken."

Harry was consumed by an urgent need to flee; he averted his gaze, staring wildly at the floor for a moment before gathering the wits to lance around Snape and proceed swiftly down the corridor.

A strange mixture of guilt, fear, and confusion wrenched in his stomach as he hurried down the hallway; if Snape said anything more, or deducted points from Gryffindor for his failure to answer the question, Harry did not hear it over the sudden roaring in his ears. Every instinct had screamed at him to get away from Snape.

And then it caught up with him. All thoughts of the Dursleys vanished beneath the sudden deluge of emotions that had been drowning him early in the summer.

There was a sudden, blinding jolt of anger as he remembered Snape's role in Sirius's death. He staggered to a halt, suddenly struggling to breathe, as the hatred simmering within him for months overcame him and soaked through the marrow of his being. His days and nights of half-sleep before the mysterious change in the Dursleys, the thoughts he'd kept at a distance, clouded by his visions of Death Eaters, were suddenly returning-- hard, sharp, and unrelenting.

He hated Snape. He HATED Snape. The bastard had driven Sirius to his death, had forced open Harry's mind for Voldemort's intrusive visions and then abandoned him to that gaping vulnerability. He'd sneered at his pleas for help in Umbridge's office, and scorned Harry's concern for Sirius. Harry's body shook; he felt himself choking on fury and hatred long supressed. He'd had to run; a moment longer in Snape's presence, and this twisted thing inside him would have broken through his clasp right there, in the Great Hall, and he didn't know what he would have done in front of Dumbledore and the rest.

Suddenly Harry wished it had. Something fierce pulsed within him, and he whirled around, the hot blood in his veins laced with something like poison, thirsty for a chance to hurt Snape, to make him pay.

The corridor behind him was empty.

Harry's eyes squeezed shut as he clamped down upon the fury. It took everything in his being to force himself around, to direct his steps clumsily back on his original course, back to Gryffindor.

TBC


	3. PART THREE: A LESS THAN WONDERFUL START

PART THREE: A LESS THAN WONDERFUL START

"Care to explain, Mr. Potter?"

He'd expected McGonagall to be angry, so it was irritating that she only looked concerned when she ushered him into her office.

"Explain what, Professor?" Harry asked in a blank tone, careful only to let a helpless sort of befuddlement escape his neutral expression.

McGonagall sent him a reproving look that told him she clearly knew he was feigning his ignorance and waved a piece of parchment at him. "I noticed your schedule, Mr. Potter. It seems you have neglected to enroll in NEWT Potions."

Harry studied the wall beyond her, giving a careless shrug. "I don't really want to deal with Snape this year."

McGonagall's tone was slightly annoyed now. "You expressed last year a desire to be an auror. I spent hours persuading Professor Snape to let you in his class. You _need_ NEWT Potions to pursue that career."

Harry glanced at her. "Sorry." He really wasn't. "You wasted your time. I should have told you this summer I'd changed my mind about the auror business."

"You no longer wish to become an auror?" Her tone was unreadable.

"Nope. Plus, as I said, I really don't want another class with that greasy git."

He waited for her outburst. She did not disappoint.

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall shouted. "That's ten points from Gryffindor for speaking disrespectfully of a professor! You will apologize right now."

He rolled his eyes and lolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. "It's only what everyone else calls him." His eyes locked with hers, and, with a sneer, he enunciated slowly, "I am deeply sorry, Professor, that I called Snape a 'greasy git'... in front of you."

"_Professor _Snape, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said warningly. "And that's another five points. Honestly, Harry..."

Harry repressed the urge to roll his eyes again, but held it in check only by pondering the retaliation he'd receive at the hands of his dorm mates if he lost the house cup for them the first day of classes.

McGonagall was speaking again. He caught her midway though the sentence. "... very foolish to let personal dislike dictate your schedule. You may not get along with Professor Snape, but you must take larger issues into consideration--"

"I told you, I don't want to be an auror!" Harry interrupted. "What the hell else do you want, a written affirmation?"

He expected her to deduct more points for his language, but Professor McGonagall folded her hands and sat back in her chair, scrutinizing him closely. "Very well then, Harry." He disliked how she'd switched to his name. "Have you an alternate career path in mind?"

_I don't know... Does 'boy murderer of a Dark Lord' count as a career path?_ he thought angrily, a small voice adding darkly, _Or more like 'boy murdered by a Dark Lord'..._

It's not like he had any other choice. It was either kill Voldemort or die himself, and either way his future was out of his hands. Become an auror... He couldn't even look that far ahead. He honestly didn't think he'd live that long.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Harry did not voice any of these thoughts. He stared at McGonagall in the heavy silence.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said at last. Her eyes softened almost imperceptibly. "Harry, you may not realize it, but as your head of house, and as someone who cares about you, I have your best interests at heart."

She shoved another piece of parchment across the desk, and as he picked it up, he noticed incredulously that it was a revised schedule. It included NEWT Potions. Harry cursed himself for not naming some alternate career, anything else. He knew what she was doing.

"You put me back in Potions!" he accused her, brimming with helpless anger. "I told you--"

"Harry, I will not have you sacrifice your future because of a personal grudge against Professor Snape." Her voice was firm and implacable. "You only have to deal with Professor Snape for two more years; this decision today you will live with forever." Her expression was now very compassionate. "If I were convinced your change in direction stemmed from genuine disinterest, and not from... lingering distress over the events last spring, I would be more willing to reconsider."

'The events last spring'. Is that what they called it when you dragged everyone you loved into a trap? When you got the one person who loved you as a father killed?

They argued several minutes more, but McGonagall would not budge from her decision. It was an infuriated Harry who stomped out of the office, consumed with something between anger and dread at the prospect of sitting in Snape's classroom the next morning.

Several steps into the Great Hall, he stopped, a solid obstruction amidst the students bustling about him, and wished with a sudden, fierce longing that he was back with the Dursleys. The feeling was so alien that it made him pause; never before had he longed for the quiet oppression of his relatives' company over the haven of his school. But now he wanted it, and he wanted it so desperately. He wanted his dark cupboard and his spiders and his chores.

But he didn't even have that anymore did he? He closed his eyes, the now-loving faces of his blood relatives flashing though his mind. No, even the Dursleys were tainted now with the cruel unpredictability of the wizarding world. They were obviously stuck in some weird spell or enchantment, or were enacting some elaborate emotional farce, and however much he'd hated the Dursleys before, at least he'd counted on them being their usual, nasty selves.

_I really should ask Hermione about the way they were acting,_ Harry thought briefly before someone-- he saw a flash of a sneering, blonde boy-- shoved him hard, sending him careening to the floor.

"Careful, Potty," Draco laughed from above him as Harry forced himself back up to his feet. "You might end up in the hospital wing on the very first day of classes."

Draco had grown several inches over the summer, and filled out considerably. The hint of fragility about the boy's figure had vanished, leaving a younger version of Lucius Malfoy gazing down at Harry.

Harry was certain from the glint in Draco's eye that the other boy had noticed their sudden size differential and was hoping to egg Harry on into a physical confrontation. But Harry had learned something from his ban from Quidditch; better to let Draco attack him first. That was the only way to avoid a detention and yet more points lost from Gryffindor.

And besides, nothing Draco might do now could possibly hurt, not after the horrific events of last year.

"Don't you wish," he said coldly. "You know, it takes a lot more than _that _to land me in the hospital wing, Malfoy. Your father learned that last year the hard way."

Malfoy's face grew pale, his gray eyes narrowing into lethal slits.

Repressing a smirk, Harry pressed on ruthlessly, "Speaking of your father, how is Azkaban these days? How terrible it must be to fall so far-- such a powerful man, now a mere prisoner... Especially when his son can't even manage to avenge him properly." When the other boy grew impossibly paler, features pinched with a rage like Harry had never before seen on his face, the smaller boy felt a rush of pleasure and pressed on mercilessly, "Well, Draco? Weren't you going kill me, to 'make me pay' for what I did to your dear old dad? Didn't go too well on the train last year. Maybe you can do better this time." Smiling a little wildly now, he spread his arms to his sides. "Go ahead, Malfoy. Take your best shot. Make poor little Lucius proud."

Harry wasn't sure just what possessed him to provoke Draco, or just why he didn't find his own wand to defend himself. He just knew he'd been seized by a wild impulse, and he drank in the pleasure of Draco's malice. He watched with anticipation as Draco's eyes flashed with fury, as Draco raised his wand and issued a nasty-sounding curse that streaked though the air towards Harry--

And smacked straight into a hastily shot counter-curse. Harry thought he should be relieved, but was aware of an acute disappointment as he realized he was out of danger. Who had just--

"POTTER! MALFOY!"

Oh, hell.

Snape.

The infuriated Professor stormed though the suddenly subdued crowd of students who pressed around them in a circle; his wand was aloft, black robes billowing about his thin frame. He drew up to the boys, features pinched with anger, black eyes flickering back and forth between the two.

"What happened?" Snape demanded coldly.

"Potter provoked me!"

"Malfoy attacked me."

"Potter started it!"

Harry felt himself rage with cold satisfaction as Snape looked over the scene intently. Draco still loomed before him, wand held threateningly at the smaller boy. Harry's hands rested passively at his sides, his wand nestled safely in his robes. There was no way, _no way_, Snape could pin this all on him, however much he wanted to. He inwardly chuckled at the tense line of Snape's lips as the man struggled for reason to blame all of this mess on Harry.

Harry smirked as he watched Snape's dilemma, but it froze on his lips when Snape's eyes rested like two black coals upon his and he knew suddenly that Snape would inexplicably blame this on him anyway.

"Mr. Malfoy, return to your dorm. Ten points from Gryffindor for starting a fight, Mr. Potter, and detention tonight in my office," Snape snarled.

Harry stared at Snape.

"Right now!" Snape hissed, striding forward and grasping Harry's collar, hauling the boy with him though the Great Hall.

Malfoy smirked at Harry as they passed. Harry's head whirled in disbelief.

He couldn't speak. He was so angry. He could barely see; the fury was like a red haze blinding him.

This was so unfair. Snape needed to be _stopped!_ The man had always been biased, but this was taking it too far! He couldn't get away with this!

_Bastard, bastard, bastard... How I hate you, Snivellus!_

His teeth were grinding so hard his jaw throbbed as he stumbled down into the coolness of the dungeons, still firmly in Snape's grip.

TBC


	4. PART FOUR: MEETING WITH SNAPE

MEETING WITH SNAPE

He hadn't realized he was struggling until Snape pinned his arms at his sides and hauled him the rest of the way into his office. Once inside, he thrust Harry into a chair and whirled to face him.

"Snape, you son of a--" Harry snarled, whipping to his feet, heedless of the consequences.

Glittering black eyes locked with his. "Legilimens!"

Fury pumped through Harry like lifeblood as he felt the spell take him. He wanted to fight, more than anything; he could kill Snape right now!

And the anger rendered him hopelessly vulnerable to Snape's intrusion. The Potions Master forced his way into Harry's mind with casual ease...

_Harry was eleven and refusing Draco Malfoy's hand on the train... Harry was calming Malfoy's snake as the others in dueling club stared in horror... Malfoy was threatening to kill him for what he did to his father... Malfoy stood before him in the Great Hall as he taunted the Slytherin into hexing him..._

When his vision cleared again, he was trembling on the floor. Snape loomed above him, wand raised, having just lifted the spell. Harry's chin ached; he must have slammed it on the ground when he collapsed.

"I see you're still hopelessly inept at occlusion."

Harry raised his eyes to meet Snape's, and smiled nastily, feeling the anger pulse though his body. "What can I say? I had shit for an instructor."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a Professor, and another ten for language. Tell me, Mr. Potter," Snape said cruelly, "How many points have you lost for Gryffindor already today? I noticed the number continually returns back to zero, and you appear to be solely responsible."

"Do you think I give a damn about house points?" Harry spat. "Besides, you had no right to penalize me when Draco was the one in the middle of hexing me!"

"At your provocation."

"You have a lot of nerve taking points for that when Malfoy's always gotten away scotch free with provoking me or Ron!" Harry's voice was trembling now. He glared at Snape, fighting the urge to tear into the infuriatingly cold countenance with his bare hands.

He expected a nasty reply. Instead, Snape leaned towards him, black eyes intent upon his, and Harry unconsciously stumbled back a few paces, the chair hitting the back of his knees before a sharp nudge from Snape sent him dropping back into it.

"Stay seated, Potter."

His voice was softer, and taken aback, Harry blinked up at him and said nothing.

"The Headmaster asked me to speak with you," Snape said, clearly switching to the real reason he'd hauled Harry out of the Great Hall. "He wishes us to resume Occlumency lessons this year."

First Potions, now Occlumency. No, no, no.

"Not a chance," Harry said firmly.

Snape sneered at him. "Believe me, I wasn't thrilled at the prospect, either. But he insisted. Our cause is too important to throw away because our pint-sized celebrity does not wish to exert himself."

"Dumbledore said he was going to teach me himself," Harry said, feeling inexplicably stung that Dumbledore was shunting him off on Snape again. He was almost as angry at Dumbledore as he was at Snape over what happened to Sirius, but it still hurt that the Headmaster didn't want anything to do with him.

Snape looked irritated, but his voice was surprisingly tolerant... well, for Snape at least. "Surely you see the need of this, Potter. The Dark Lord possessed your mind last year at the Department of Mysteries. The old concerns still apply, unless you _wish_ to expose the Headmaster to his machinations."

"No, of course not," Harry said hastily. "It's just--"

"We will meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays at eight in this office. This year, you _will_ practice or you will spend your free nights in detention." Snape leaned back, his expression growing noticeably chillier. "And you will keep the hell away from my penseive or detention will be the least of your worries!" A pause, then, "Now, let's discuss that idiot display with Malfoy."

Harry felt something inside him flare back into anger. "It was Malfoy's fault. He started it."

"Don't think for a second I'm fooled by you, Potter," Snape hissed. "Even had your memory of the incident not confirmed my suspicions, it was plain as day you intended to goad Draco into fighting. I don't think you comprehend the idiocy of your actions-- intentionally provoking Draco, shaming him in front of his classmates, failing to defend yourself when you had no idea what curse he was sending at you. You put his father in prison, Potter. Don't believe for a moment that his threats were made in jest!"

Harry glared at him.

"Of course," Snape said viciously, "Perhaps you were just hoping to be hurt in front of all your admirers. Maybe you were hoping to elicit pity, or gain some attention. It must be quite lonely now that you no longer have that mangy mutt to dote upon you, but then again, whose fault is that?"

He hadn't realized he'd grabbed for his wand before Snape cried, "Expelliarmus!" and "Accio wand!" in quick succession, leaving Harry defenseless as Snape held both their wands in a firm grip.

"I'll cast a body bind if you move from that chair," he warned Harry coldly.

Harry gripped the edges of his seat, watching the hateful man before him; oh how he hated Snape.

Snape, for his part, lowered himself to the edge of his desk, expression strangely free of malice. "I remember your display at the end of last year, when I caught you on the verge of hexing Malfoy. I see this summer has done nothing to dissipate your childish sense of effrontery." Harry averted his eyes from those empty black ones. "I find it curious, Mr. Potter, that a summer at home has left you in virtually the same state of mind you were in last spring."

"Yeah, it's very curious," Harry groused. "Because we both know the Dursleys are great for one's mental health."

"Come now, Potter, I know for a fact that they treated you quite generously this summer."

Harry glanced up sharply. So they'd told Snape about his relatives' strange kindness? Is that why the man was prying like this? He supposed it would seem more curious to Snape than to the others, considering that he was the only one who had seen Harry's memories of them.

"It was weird," he admitted at last, strangely relieved to be able to tell Snape about this-- the one person who might possibly understand how odd it was, however much he despised the man. "They were being nice. I thought they were impostors with Polyjuice."

Snape rolled his eyes. "If Death Eaters could infiltrate Privet Drive, they would not bother playing house before killing you."

"I know that," Harry snapped. "It's just not normal for people to change after fifteen years of being total gits. I kept waiting for them to try to kill me, or hex me, because there was something _wrong_ with them." He glared up at Snape. "So, in case you're wondering, I don't think being terrified all summer because my relatives had lost their minds was all that soothing."

Snape's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into dark slits. "You are an ungrateful brat, Potter." With a wave of his wand, the office door snapped open. "Get out!"

Harry blinked. No scrubbing cauldrons? He was off the hook? From the twisted expression on the other man's face, and the harsh way he tossed Harry's wand back at him, Snape seemed something other than angry; he seemed almost... offended.

Harry hesitated a moment before he realized it wasn't worth his time trying to figure out how Snape's mind worked. Snape had kicked him out; he would take advantage of that before Snape changed his mind.

"Gladly," Harry snarled.

He stalked out the door.

TBC

A/N Thanks to all those who have reviewed! I appreciate it.

Just wondering-- do people generally prefer authors to respond to individual reviewers at the bottom of the chapters? I find it distracting when I'm a reader, but I know others see it differently!


	5. PART FIVE: SNAPE'S INSIGHT

PART FIVE: SNAPE'S INSIGHT

Potions class the next day was hell. He hadn't done the summer reading or completed the summer homework, thus he earned himself a week of detention. He ruined his potion when he stirred in the hellebore counterclockwise. Although it was only the second ingredient and it was still early enough in class to start over, Snape remarked snidely, "While some may worship the ground our precious celebrity walks on, I refuse to sacrifice more hellebore on the altar of Mr. Potter's incompetence. Evanesce."

Harry spent an hour and a half perched by his empty cauldron as everyone around him diligently completed the assignment.

His boredom was interrupted several times by Draco Malfoy chucking salamander eyes at him behind Snape's back. He would _swear_ Snape had seen it this last time, and greasy bastard still done nothing to reprimand the blonde Slytherin. He wondered angrily if he could glare a hole in Snape's head, and spent the rest of the period attempting to do so. Where was accidental magic when you needed it?

After Transfiguration, he confronted McGonagall again about getting out of Snape's class. She was in no mood to be generous, especially since Potions that morning had left Harry in a surly mood that spilled into his performance in her class. She scolded him for 'persisting in this nonsense', and would have assigned him detention if he hadn't informed her that Snape had promised him to Filch for the entire week.

He imagined himself scrubbing the skin straight off Snape's bones as he cleaned the rim of a toilet bowl later in detention, and immediately found the activity much more satisfying. Of course, Filch had to shatter the fantasy by hovering over Harry's shoulder, muttering something about 'spoiled, filthy beasts' who thought too highly of themselves. Because Argus Filch could never feature in any fantasy of his, or in the fantasy of any individual of sound taste and mind, the boy found himself again forced to contemplate the sheer drudgery of his work.

By the time he dragged himself into Snape's office for Occlumency, he was exhausted and half-dead on his feet.

"Legilimens!" the Potions Master stated in greeting, sending Harry crashing to the floor.

_He was sitting across from Cho Chang in Madam Puddifoot's as her eyes filled with tears... He stared at Dumbledore as a single tear dribbled down the headmaster's face... He was casting the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange_...

Somewhere, he found the strength to throw Snape out of his mind, burning with horror that Snape had witnessed that memory. As he pulled himself up off the floor, he avoided the man's eyes, dreading the sneering smile he was sure to receive.

Snape knew he'd cast an Unforgivable. Snape would report him and get him expelled, if not shipped directly to Azkaban...

"That was a pathetic effort, Potter" Snape said curtly. "I would think after the debacle last spring you would have learned the value of _practice_."

Harry stared at him. Snape couldn't really just be brushing this off, could he…?

"Clear your mind."

Harry attempted to do so. But how could he? What was Snape _doing_? Who _was _this man?

"Legilimens!"

* * *

It was baffling that Snape hadn't pounced upon the chance to get rid of Harry for good. It was even more confusing that Snape hadn't looked _the least bit surprised_ at learning of Harry's attempt to cast the Cruciatus Curse Did he simply pay so little regard to the use of Unforgivables? Was he simply that good an actor? Or…

Harry realized it during Charms the next morning.

"That greasy son of a bitch _already knew!_"

The class was staring at him and Flitwick looked very put-off. Harry muttered an apology, and lost ten points from Gryffindor for bad language.

He spent dinner glaring at Snape from across the Great Hall. Several of the Gryffindors noticed his fixed gaze, and at first sympathized with Harry for whatever heinous misdeed Snape had obviously committed to inspire such scorn in the Boy-Who-Lived. After several more minutes, Seamus started joking that Harry's attentive gaze stemmed from deep-seated lust for their greasiest professor. After a few more minutes, the Irish boy had convinced himself that his theory was the truth, and he began staring with deep-seated lust at Harry, imagining Harry staring with deep-seated lust at Seamus just as he was staring with deep-seated lust at Snape. But his concentration was soon wrecked when Ron noticed him staring with deep-seated lust at Harry and slapped the Irish boy, hard, over the back of the head. No more looks of deep-seated lust were cast under the redhead's withering glare.

Harry didn't notice. When Snape stalked in a furrow of black robes from the Great Hall, he followed at a distance, waiting to catch his professor alone.

He didn't count on Snape spotting him first, and when the spell caught him by surprise and slammed him against the wall, Harry let out a cry of protest.

"Why are you following me, Potter?" Snape demanded.

Harry fumbled at the invisible grip holding him in place before Snape's face twitched with exasperation, and a curt wave of his wand released Harry into a heap on the floor.

"You _knew!_" Harry charged, as soon as he caught his breath.

"What are you going on about?" Snape said sourly, casting a silencing spell around them.

"About _Bellatrix!_ That I _cursed her!_"

Snape folded his arms, staring darkly at the boy only now managing to scramble up from the ground. "I'm a Death Eater, Potter. Believe it or not, I'm privy to quite a bit more information than you might think."

Harry glared at him for a long moment. Something wasn't adding up here.

He considered Snape through keen, narrow eyes. "You talked about my 'state of mind' yesterday. _That's _what you were talking about! You think I'm…" he fumbled for an appropriate word, and was utterly appalled with the one that came to mind. "… _deranged._"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Melodrama does not suit you, Mr. Potter. I do not believe you to be 'deranged' but the fact remains that you attempted an Unforgivable. You may be an arrogant, idiotic Gryffindor, but you are not cruel. That attempt alone, coupled with your aggression towards both Mr. Malfoy and myself at the end of last year, serves as a powerful indicator that you are not entirely… sound."

"I was angry!" Harry cried. "She killed Sirius."

Snape took a step closer to him, watching him intently. "And why are you angry _now_, Mr. Potter? Why have you plunged your house into negative points in just the first three days of the semester?" Then, in the snide tone with which Harry was all-too-familiar, "I suppose you've unearthed several other perpetrators in your godfather's death?"

Oh, that was _it!_

Harry actually managed to slam his fist across Snape's jaw this time, before the spell knocked him to the ground. He found himself in the degrading position of screaming profanity up at his professor while fighting the oppressive weight of an impedimentia spell.

Snape was rubbing his jaw absently, staring down at Harry with a distinct lack of expression that suddenly made him feel humiliated and ashamed of his outburst. He fell silent and let his head slump back to the ground, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

"You fail to realize," Snape said, gazing down at him, "that moments of unreasoning fury will ruin your life in an instant. Had your curse been successful, you very well might be in Azkaban right now."

"Why do you care?" Harry said mutinously.

"I don't!" Snape snarled, canceling the impedimentia spell with a harsh jerk of his wand. "I merely am the _only one _perceptive enough to see where you are heading!"

"Oh? And where's that?"

Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Snape had instantly taken on a predatory mien, stalking forward and leaning down to bring their faces level.

"If you continue nursing this mindless anger, Mister Potter, you are going to destroy yourself and _everyone around you!_"

Harry stared at him, unable to speak if he tried.

Snape rubbed his jaw for a long moment, watching Harry keenly. When Harry could still say nothing, he tucked his wand away.

"Two additional weeks of detention for striking a teacher," Snape intoned. "And I trust you can show yourself out of the dungeons."

Harry couldn't muster an objection as Snape turned away from him. His restless energy over the last few days suddenly drained, as though he'd lost a particularly brutal fight.

He _was_ angry. At Snape, at the world, at _himself._ At Sirius, for dying and leaving him here alone.

_Sirius_…

Harry clenched his fists, trying determinedly not to think of him. He didn't think he could bear to think of him.

"Well, well, isn't this our lucky day. Looks like Scarhead's gotten lost!"

Draco's snide voice had never felt more welcome. Harry turned around to face the smug blonde, who was gloating at some perceived advantage as he took refuge between the hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle.

"No Snape to save you now, Potty!" Draco informed him maliciously.

Harry's smile was downright creepy. "Or you, Malfoy."

In a flurry of motion, first Draco and then Goyle tried to hex him. Harry blocked them easily, and nailed all three of the Slytherins with a few choice curses from DA.

As he strolled out of the dungeons, passing the three Slytherins moaning on the floor, he could almost forget that everything wrong in the world was still bubbling beneath the surface.

TBC


	6. PART SIX: BRIGHTER DAYS

PART SIX: BRIGHTER DAYS

It was several weeks later that he received the Owl bearing a note from the Dursleys. He read it a few dozen times over the course of the day, still unable to process the words.

… _love you and hope that your school year is going well…_

… _I know it's still early, Harry, but Vernon and I are just so excited at the prospect of another Christmas as a family… with our whole family! And we wanted to ask you before you made plans with your little friends…_

… _a nice holiday with our ickle Harrykins…_

_… Dudley's so excited. He saw the perfect present for you yesterday, but I can't tell you, so don't ask!…_

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Funny, how this still astonished him even after the anomalous behavior this summer. He'd somehow expected the Dursleys' goodwill to evaporate the moment he returned to Hogwarts.

Well, no. Honestly, this summer he'd expected it to have vanished during the night every time he woke up. Or during the day every time he emerged from his room for meals. Or during the course of the movie every time the Dursleys had taken him on a family outing.

He stared at the letter. He simply couldn't get his head around to the fact that his family _wanted him home for Christmas_. That was what happened with _normal_ families, _normal_ people. Not him. Never him.

It was so extraordinary that he barely noticed the white noise of Draco's insults in the background during Potions.

"So, Potter, you're practically _living_ with Filch now, aren't you? How many months of detention does that make?" Draco called across the room.

Harry ignored Malfoy successfully until Snape retreated in the middle of the class to retrieve ingredients from the supply cupboard. Immediately, a pale hand shot forward and snatched the letter right off his desk.

"What's this?" Draco whispered maliciously.

"Give that back!" Harry ordered. He made a leap for Malfoy, only to run into Crabbe's solid bulk.

Behind him, the Gryffindors started to attention. A gleeful smile stretched across Draco's lips.

"Aw, _ickle Harrykins _got a widdle wedder from his fam-wy!" Draco said in an obnoxious baby-voice that made Harry's cheeks flame. Ron was lunging forward now, held off by Goyle.

"MALFOY--" Harry bellowed.

"_'We already miss our little Harry…'_" Malfoy read tauntingly. "How precious! _'We hope they're feeding you well. Your uncle will teach them a lesson if they're not. Our little tyke's a growing boy…'_"

The Slytherins laughed maliciously, but Harry suddenly found himself frozen, in the sheer unreality of the situation.

He'd somehow always expected the Dursleys to be a weak point, something Draco and his other enemies might sniff out, but he'd always imagined them finding out that the Dursleys hated him. He'd never expected _over-affection _of _Dudleyish_ _proportions_ to render him an object of derision.

"And what about this: '_We know our precious little wizard needs_--'" Draco crowed.

"That will be ENOUGH, Mr. Malfoy!" Snape bellowed from the front of the room, looking menacing even with his arms filled with sacks of ingredients.

Draco thrust the letter quickly back onto Harry's desk, and shot Snape a look of betrayal.

Harry grasped the letter protectively, turning the white envelope over and over in his hand. An odd feeling welled up inside him. He ignored the grumbling of his friends behind him, promising reprisals against Draco and his cronies. All he could think about was what might have happened a year ago if Draco had read a letter from the Dursleys…

They'd never bothered to write him. But if they had… well, the sheer venom in them would be enough to send the Slytherins into raptures. It was funny how things had changed. This position, the one he never had the chance to experience before... They were laughing at him now, for being a spoiled, overindulged brat, babied by his relatives, but…

Somehow that just didn't hurt as much as the alternative. And the alternative had been his only possibility until now.

A strange warmth filled him. Odd, how Draco taunting him over the affection from the Dursleys could finally make that affection seem real to him.

Every instinct screamed against trusting this, against relying upon this. He swore consciously that he would write a Dursleys a terse 'thanks, but no thanks' letter.

But despite himself, Harry found himself in detention with Filch that night, daydreaming about Christmas with the Dursleys… A Christmas with a family that _loved_ _him._

* * *

"I'm told your performance has improved in your classes," Snape noted formally, holding Harry back at the end of an Occlumency session several weeks later.

Harry rubbed his aching scar. "Yeah." He attempted to twist from Snape's grip, but Snape's fingers tightened on his shoulder.

"You are still failing potions, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up at him sharply. _Failing?_ He'd known his grades weren't the best, but he hadn't realized it had reached that point.

"Oh."

Snape crossed his arms over his chest. "I presume you wish to do something about it?"

Harry was tempted to yell at him that he hadn't even _wanted_ to be in Snape's stupid potions class, but he hesitated, considering the consequences. He still hated potions, but the last couple of weeks had been better than the first two… _Much _better. He was… well, he wouldn't say happy, because he still felt miserable every time he thought of Sirius, which was, well, a lot. But he didn't feel like he'd rather stay in bed than go on with his day. He no longer wished that he'd never gone to Hogwarts.

And he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to throw away the future anymore. An auror…

"I… Is there anything I can do about it? Sir?" Harry found himself asking, a little surprised at how reasonable his tone was.

A curious, almost satisfied look glinted in Snape's eyes briefly, before his professor released him and circled around the back of his desk. "I understand your numerous detentions have nearly been served."

Harry felt a flare of irritation. Yeah, the numerous detentions _Snape_ had assigned him!-- but he held his temper. "Yes, sir."

"Very well then. You will shortly be having extra free time." Snape glanced down at a parchment-- a schedule of some sort, Harry thought-- and then coolly back up at Harry. "I will be brewing new stocks for the Hospital Wing on Monday and Wednesday evenings. If you remain quiet, and curtail your tendency to deface my classroom with your explosive concoctions, I will allow you the opportunity to make up for your… pitiful performance earlier this term."

Harry stared at him. He couldn't believe _Snape_ was giving him this chance.

Snape apparently was annoyed by Harry's shock. "Don't give me that look, Potter. You underestimate the persistence of your Head of House."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, still a bit awed.

"Now get out of my sight," Snape said curtly.

Even with the brusque parting words, Snape hadn't been quite his irascible self. Harry hurried out of the classroom, wondering if his luck was changing for the better after all.

Later that night, shuffling through his homework parchments, he stumbled upon the Dursleys' letter again.

Harry stared at it, launching into that familiar internal debate.

Tonight, though, a daring impulse overtook him. He grabbed his quill and wrote out the words before he even gave much thought to what he wanted to say.

_I'd be happy to come. I'll see you at Christmas. -- Harry_

TBC


End file.
